Very soon she said: ‘How restless you are, dear Richard. Come and sit down.’
He sat, but not beside her. Instead, he placed a chair where he could face her. She was reclining against his cushions with her feet tucked under her, looking small and young. As almost always, she was wearing a black, clinging dress unsuitable for the country but very becoming to her. He wondered if it was usual for pale, black-haired women to look so well in black and he noticed, not for the first time, the beautiful line of her jaw and throat.
‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked, after a moment. He had no intention of telling her. Instead he commented on the lack of any news about his father. ‘It must be so very worrying for you, Violet.’
She sighed. ‘Yes, indeed. But I’m more worried on his account than on my own. You know, Richard, I doubt if he and I would ever have got married.’
Richard, too, doubted it.
She went on, ‘For one thing, there was such a difference in our ages. After all, I’m only twenty-seven.’
Less than a week ago she’d mentioned that she was twenty-nine – or had he misheard her? Today she didn’t even seem twenty-seven. ‘You look like a little girl,’ he told her. ‘Sitting there with your feet tucked up.’
She raised her arms and clasped her hands behind her head – and stopped looking like a little girl. The movement tightened her already tight dress, and the way she now sank back against the cushions constituted an invitation hard to ignore. He ought to have known this would happen if he let her come to the music room. Perhaps he had known it.
He rose and came towards her, wondering how one took hold of a woman who had bunched herself into a lump and was protected on three sides by cushions. As if understanding his problem she instantly shot her feet from under her, reclined full length, and gave him a smile of comprehensive welcome. This offered more than he had bargained for – anyway, at present. So he said: ‘Sit up like a good girl and l I’ll kiss you.’
She laughed delightedly and somehow managed to lie down even flatter.
He turned towards the door, uncertain whether to bolt it or merely bolt. It suddenly opened to admit an almost breathless Aunt Winifred.
‘Richard, there’s a man wants you on the telephone. And you should hurry as it’s a trunk call and he said it was most urgent, and I’m afraid I’ve taken rather a long time to get here because I couldn’t find my glasses.’
As she wore glasses only for reading he couldn’t think why she needed them to walk through the garden. ‘Well, sit down and get your breath back,’ he told her as he hurried out.
Could the call be something to do with his father? Or was it Drew calling from Whitesea? He dashed into the study and heard, even before he reached the desk, shrill sounds coming from the receiver. That certainly wasn’t Drew.
It proved to be the local doctor’s wife ringing up the local laundry about a missing pillow slip; that at least had been her intention. ‘But I’ve been hanging on for ages,’ she wailed when Richard told her she had the wrong number. ‘And she said it was the right number.’
‘She’s getting very deaf,’ said Richard untruthfully. Hanging up, he wondered if his aunt had really thought she’d heard a male voice urgently calling him from a distance, or if she’d merely wanted to make a dramatic entrance. Anyway, she and Violet could now have a chat while he did some thinking.
Why, why, had he let himself tell Violet he would kiss her? Up to now it had been – just – possible to pretend he did not realize their interest in each other. From now on, that would be out of the question. And what was he going to do about it?
He had come nowhere near deciding when the front-door bell rang. He went to answer it.
Opening the door, he found himself facing a tall, very fair man whose features combined extreme distinction with just the faintest suggestion of half-wittedness. On seeing Richard, he swallowed nervously before saying: ‘It’s difficult to explain but I’m trying to find a Miss Merry le Jeune – though I believe her real name is Carrington.’
‘Come in,’ said Richard. ‘And stop worrying. She’s quite safe.’
‘Thank God,’ said Lord Crestover.
Richard took him to the study, hoping Violet and Aunt Winifred would stay out of the way. He explained that he was Merry’s brother and had been told a good deal about her adventures. Lord Crestover, seeming slightly dazed, sank anto the proffered chair.
‘I’ve been so anxious – we all have. Is she really only fourteen and a half?’
Richard nodded ruefully. ‘It’s her only excuse for such disgraceful behaviour.’
‘Oh, we none of us count it against her, I assure you. Poor child! Though it’s still hard to realize she is a child. Believe me, I never for one moment suspected—’
Richard interrupted hastily. ‘Of course you didn’t. She’s a brilliant actress and she looks grown up with that hair. I thought so this morning.’
‘She told me in her farewell letter – so honestly – that it was dyed. What colour is it really?’
‘Just a light brown.’
‘I shall like that,’ said Lord Crestover, his eyes shining.
The poor devil’s demented about her, thought Richard, and then asked: ‘How did you trace her – and so quickly?’
Lord Crestover took Merry’s diamond brooch from his pocket and handed it to Richard. ‘The dear girl left this. We were all more touched than I can say. You’ll notice the name of the jeweller engraved on the back; my mother’s jeweller, incidentally. I drove up to London this morning and had no difficulty in finding out the brooch was originally sold to a Mr Rupert Carrington. And when the salesman happened to mention, well, certain things, I knew I was on the right track. You see, Merry’s letter said her father was a fugitive from justice.’
‘It never occurred to her – or me – that you could find her.’ Richard handed the brooch back.
‘She must keep this, of course. But I’ll return it myself. May I see her now, please?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Richard. ‘She’s gone to stay with my younger brother at … well, quite a long way off.’
‘Can I reach her tonight?’
Richard wondered how to protect Merry without being brutal. At last he said: ‘I think it would be a great mistake to see her, Lord Crestover. She feels you should forget her.’
‘That’s because she thinks I shall want to. I must see her at once – for her sake as well as mine; I must relieve her mind. Please give me the address and the telephone number. I’ll ring her at once and say I’m coming.’
‘There’s no telephone. And I can’t, I really can’t give you her address – not until I have her permission. She made it so absolutely clear that … that she wants you to forget her.’
‘Then it’s because she thinks it’s for my own good. She can’t want it on her own account – not after her letter. I’d better show it to you.’ Lord Crestover took the letter from his pocket, gave it a reverently loving look and handed it over. ‘I’m sure you’ll be as moved by it as we all were.’
Richard was indeed moved. Poor Merry, confessing to her dyed hair and false figure. But an hour – no, it must have been less – after her ‘dearest Claude’ had read that she truly loved him she had seen him as a codfish. Really the comparison was too cruel!
Richard looked up from the letter. Lord Crestover was regarding him with anxious, wide-open eyes and a mouth even more widely open. Cruel the comparison might be but it was also apt. And if a girl had once seen a man as a codfish, could she ever in future fail to see him as one?
‘Now you’ll understand why I must go to her at once,’ said Lord Crestover. ‘And let me tell you our plans for her. My mother wishes to adopt her, either officially or unofficially, whichever seems best. We shall take a flat in London. I’m told that Merry, absurd though it seems, is still under school-leaving age. Well, of course she can go to classes or have private tuition before starting her career. Then everything can proceed just as we’d planned.’
>
‘Not everything, surely?’
Lord Crestover flushed. ‘Naturally, we shall consider her a child. You surely don’t imagine that I …’ The flush had now reached his shining fair hair.
‘No, no!’ Richard protested. ‘I think you’ve behaving most admirably – really quite nobly. And I know you always would. But surely it would be difficult for you, feeling as you do about her?’
‘Remember she feels the same way about me,’ said Lord Crestover, emotionally.
‘That would make things even worse. Do you realize she couldn’t be married for years and years?’
‘She could be legally married at sixteen. And she’s unusually mature in her feelings. And she told me once that Juliet was married at fourteen.’
Juliet! That patron saint of the precocious! And remembering Merry’s school performance of Juliet, Richard could well believe she might, thinking herself to be in love, have given an impression of maturity. But it wasn’t genuine maturity. He said firmly: ‘My father would never agree. And neither would I, if I had any say in the matter.’
‘Well, that’s all in the future. The great thing now is to let the dear child know that all is well. I have affectionate messages for her from my mother and sisters – and my uncle, for whom Merry has a special regard.’
‘Mr Desmond Deane?’ said Richard, remembering Merry’s narrative. Wasn’t he the one who had warned her off?
‘He asked me to tell her he now likes her better than ever. Surely you can trust us?’
‘Indeed I do,’ said Richard, and meant it as regard Lord Crestover. He wasn’t so sure about the mother who, according to Merry, merely wanted a reason for living in London. ‘It’s only that— Can I get you a drink or something? Perhaps you’d like some tea?’
‘No, thank you. I’d just like to go to Merry,’ said Lord Crestover, doggedly.
Should one hand over the address? Could one, in decency, refuse? Richard got up and walked to the window, thinking hard … There was now a light in his music room – well, thank God Violet and Aunt Winifred were staying put. If Merry re-joined the Crestovers there’d be such enormous advantages as regards her immediate future. And no one could make her marry. Anyway, she ought at least to see this extremely nice man. Could any girl fail to be moved by such devotion? Perhaps she’d have another change of heart … But not yet. And pursued in her present mood of revulsion, she might be brutal; one must withold the address as much for Lord Crestover’s sake as for hers.
He turned (and now got his lordship in full profile … that jutting nose, that receding chin – neither would have looked so bad without the other). ‘Please consider this,’ he said, persuasively. ‘My sister will be extremely tired when she arrives. If she has to face an emotional scene tonight it could be very bad for her, after the mental strain she’s recently been under. Suppose we both of us just write to her – now. I’ll put your letter in mine and she’ll get them both tomorrow morning – we can still catch the post. How would that be? And I’ll promise to tell her how wonderful I think you’re being.’ He felt as if cajoling a child.
Lord Crestover seemed impressed. ‘Perhaps she would be too tired to see me tonight. But I’m not a good letter writer.’
‘Just tell her what you’ve told me – and I’ll tell her, too. She’ll understand.’
He settled Lord Crestover at the desk and said they would allow themselves twenty minutes. ‘It’s easier to think when one’s alone so I’ll leave you for the moment.’ He took writing paper into the hall. Here he could, if necessary, head off Violet and Aunt Winifred.
In his own letter, he found himself coming out strongly for Lord Crestover. Well, one was so damn sorry for him. And Merry was no shrinking violet. (Nor was Violet … He dragged his thoughts back from his own problem.) It really wouldn’t hurt his quite tough young sister to have a talk with a man who would undoubtedly behave most chivalrously. After all, she’d made her bed … He refrained from writing that but had no hesitation in telling her she’d incurred the responsibility of being both kind and tactful. He’d felt she was being a bit callous …
He remembered then that he’d also felt she’d better go on being callous, but that was before he’d met the poor codfish.
He wouldn’t mention ‘codfish’ in his letter. Instead, he wrote of Lord Crestover’s great distinction and good looks (well, he had large eyes and – most fortunately – good teeth). He pointed out the advantages of life with the Crestovers and concluded by saying, ‘And do remember, he loves you.’
He had finished his letter in a quarter of an hour and was fairly pleased with it. He went back to the study.
Lord Crestover was working hard and breathing heavily – through his nose; for once his mouth was closed, in grim determination. He looked up and said: ‘One feels inadequate. And it’s difficult … in the circumstances. Do you think – after all, she will want to know – do you think it’s all right to tell her I love her?’
‘Of course it is,’ said Richard heartily. ‘And I’ve said you do, too. Now we haven’t much time left.’
Lord Crestover finished his letter and then Richard put it in an envelope with his own and addressed the envelope. ‘Would you like to see this posted?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please. Let me drive you to the post office.’
They went out into the chilly late afternoon. ‘Soon be winter,’ said Lord Crestover. ‘Merry wouldn’t like Crestover in winter – such a cold house, much as I love it. But she won’t mind coming back there for a few weeks while we find a London flat.’
If only he wasn’t so optimistic, thought Richard, getting into the Daimler. To change the subject he said breezily:
‘I suppose this is the car you dashed after her in?’
Lord Crestover looked astonished. ‘How did you know I did?’
What a gaffe! Richard hastily amended it. ‘Oh, I just guessed you would.’
‘I did indeed. But when I caught up with her bus, she wasn’t on it.’
‘She had to change buses in order to get home.’
‘Yes, I see. What a difference it’d have made if I could have found her last night!’
Depending on whether you found her before or after she saw you as a codfish, thought Richard. Oh, damn Merry! She should have seen that resemblance earlier – or never.
They posted the letter together, Richard feeling embarrassed at keeping the address turned downwards.
‘Do vou think she’ll telephone tomorrow?’ said Lord Crestover.
‘I wouldn’t count on it. As I said, there’s no telephone where she’s staying and she might not like to speak from a call box, on such an intimate matter.’
‘I think she’ll telephone,’ said Lord Crestover, fondly. He got back into the car.
Richard had decided to stay where he was and intercept Jane on her way home. It would be his best chance to tell her privately about Merry’s return. ‘Well, goodbye,’ he said. ‘And thank you for being … so chivalrous. And so wonderfully kind to my sister.’
‘I keep thinking of how she must have felt when she wrote that letter last night, not realizing I’d go on caring for her. It harrows me.’
Richard, watching Lord Crestover drive into the dusk, felt harrowed too; but not on Merry’s account.
3
Brothers in Arms
The evening had gone smoothly. He had returned to Dome House safely chaperoned by Jane; and told Aunt Winifred and Violet that he’d had to go out to post a business letter, the writing of which had been necessitated by the telephone call he’d gone in to answer. He had never realized how truthful he normally was until he found how much he disliked telling the lies he now so constantly had to tell.
He had, anyway, told Jane the fall truth about Merry, but they’d decided Cook and Edith musn’t know it as they would be shocked if they heard that Merry had been involved in a love affair. So he told them she’d merely stayed in a quiet boarding house, failed to get work on the stage, and come home when her money ran out.
They were overjoyed that she was unharmed and would soon be safely with Drew. For days Richard had thought they seemed tired and lacklustre; he was glad of this chance to cheer them up.
Not until Jane and Aunt Winifred had gone to bed did he find himself alone with Violet. (Jane threw him by going to bed earlier than usual.) Violet at once said: ‘Richard, I want to have a quiet talk with you, and not here; we’re so liable to be overheard. Will you come to my room or shall I come to yours?’
‘Neither,’ said Richard. Whatever she meant by a quiet talk he wasn’t having it so close to Jane and Aunt Winifred. ‘Let’s talk tomorrow.’ He got up and moved towards the stairs.
‘No, tonight – please, Richard! I shan’t sleep unless we do. You see, I’ve let you make a dreadful mistake about me and it’s on my conscience – because I know it’s worrying you. I was going to explain this afternoon when your aunt came in.
‘Like hell you were,’ said Richard.
‘Well, I will now and it’ll make all the difference. I’ll tell you the whole truth.’
‘Tomorrow, Violet dear,’ he said firmly; then went upstairs and into his room as fast as he could without running.
Unfortunately he had to come out again to go to the bathroom. She was now lying full length on the hall sofa. Waving a languid hand, she called up that she was still around.
‘So I noticed,’ said Richard. ‘Don’t forget to put the lights out when you come up.’
Returning from the bathroom he was glad to see the hall was in darkness, but less glad when Violet opened her door.
‘You knocked?’ she said sweetly.
‘No, I didn’t and I hope you won’t.’ He went into his room wondering if it would be too like a nervous spinster if he locked his door. Well, he doubted if many spinsters were more nervous than he was. He turned the key.
He had just got into bed when he heard a gentle tap. Good God, he’d probably put the idea into her head. The tap came again, much louder; if she went on like that she’d rouse the house. Hurriedly he flung on his dressing-gown and opened the door.